


Instant Christmas

by Dlvvanzor



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Presents, Hank Anderson & Connor Friendship, Hank Anderson and Connor Live Together, Hank just wants to make Connor happy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-16
Updated: 2018-12-16
Packaged: 2019-09-20 09:40:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17020302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dlvvanzor/pseuds/Dlvvanzor
Summary: It was twelve hours before Christmas and Hank was standing in a hardware store in a mostly-controlled state of panic.  Thirteen hours ago, he hadn’t known he was going to be celebrating Christmas this year.  But then he’d seen Connor listening to Christmas music, and now here he was.





	Instant Christmas

It was twelve hours before Christmas and Hank was standing in a hardware store in a mostly-controlled state of panic.

Thirteen hours ago, he hadn’t known that he was going to be celebrating Christmas this year.  Hank hadn’t celebrated Christmas in six years.  Not since his son had died.  There really hadn’t been a point.  Unless you counted Hank drinking himself into a near-coma, he didn’t even acknowledge the day, and he hadn’t intended on doing any more than that this year.  After all, Connor, his roommate of about a month, wouldn’t care.  Right?

But then he’d heard Connor listening to Christmas music, and now here he was.

Connor had beaten him home that day—Hank had had paperwork and he wasn’t nearly as quick at it as Connor was.  When he’d gotten back to his house, drowsy from boredom and cranky from tedious work, he’d been able to hear Christmas music without even opening the door.

For a wild moment, he’d thought someone had broken in and had, absurdly, started listening to seasonally-appropriate music.  He’d considered calling the police, remembered that he _was_ the police, and busted into his own house.

When he _had_ opened the door, he’d realized that it was Connor— _obviously, might be time to think about retiring, Lieutenant—_ who had turned the radio on.  Connor had been cleaning (he did that sometimes and Hank always felt like it was wrong, given everything, but he also felt like it was wrong to tell him to stop so he’d yet to say anything).  He had also been… Hank couldn’t exactly call it dancing, but it would be wrong to say he wasn’t dancing, too.  He was definitely moving.

Connor had looked at him with the biggest smile, welcoming and huge and bright like the sun and so innocent it made Hank’s heart hurt.  “Tomorrow is Christmas!”

So, Hank had turned on his heel and marched himself out to the hardware store.  He’d gotten a cart.  He filled that cart with half a dozen boxes of multicolor Christmas lights, a small artificial tree, the cheapest ornaments he could find that didn’t look like garbage, some red bows that presumably tied onto something, and a yard flamingo with a Santa hat.  There had been a special on candy canes so he’d gotten some of those, too, even though Connor couldn’t eat them.  He’d gone down every aisle in the Christmas section and gotten whatever seemed necessary, whatever wasn’t going to break the budget, and whatever he could imagine making Connor smile like that again.

It had been going well.  He’d been able to summon old memories to figure out what to buy in terms of decorations, but absolutely nothing in his memory was helping him with the last piece of the puzzle:

A Christmas gift for Connor.

Probably, Connor didn’t expect one.  The lack of decorations in the house had probably clued Connor in to the fact that Hank didn’t celebrate Christmas.  Maybe Connor assumed he was Jewish.  It was possible that Connor wasn’t even aware that humans often exchanged gifts on Christmas.  Hank hardly thought that Connor would think Hank didn’t care for him if they skipped presents.

But it was possible that he would.  What if he did?  What if Connor was looking forward to experiencing a human tradition the following morning and had gotten Hank something, and Hank would have nothing to give him in return?  What if it hurt Connor’s feelings?  Connor had only had feelings for a little over a month.  _Merry Christmas, Connor, have disappointment and a friend who didn’t think of you._

He cast about for someone to help him, eyes landing on a skinny kid in the hardware store’s employee uniform who couldn’t have been more than 16 and who had twice that number of piercings.  That seemed like a kid who would know something about androids.

Hank pushed his cart over to him.  “Hey,” he said.  “Got a second?”  At the kid’s confirmatory grunt, Hank asked, “Any idea what to get an android for Christmas?”

The kid blinked at him.  “Um, I dunno.  What does he like?”

Hank stopped, thought about it.  What did Connor like?  He liked working homicide, now that the android laws had gone into effect and the police force had hired him on for pay.  He liked tasting blood and grossing Hank out, if his huff of laughter was anything to go off of.  He liked Christmas music.  But none of those were really giftable.

“Um, music, I guess,” Hank speculated.  “Cleanliness.  I don’t really know, he hasn’t exactly had a lot of time to discover a bunch of hobbies.”

The boy nodded in understanding.  “Get him something from CyberLife,” he suggested.  “Maybe a new haircut package?  I heard they have some new styles that are pretty popular with deviants.”

Hank considered it.  He imagined struggling through the process of buying anything technological, ending up needing help from the unbearably slow customer services reps CyberLife was infamous for.  He imagined presenting Connor with the chip.  Would Connor be pleased?  Was Connor vain enough to want to try different haircuts?  (Probably—the man fixed his tie a _lot_ and still wore one even now.)  Or would it be kind of rude to get him a gift that emphasized that he was an android?  Shouldn’t he be emphasizing that Connor was a person?

Also, he couldn’t imagine Connor with a different haircut.  The thought was actually pretty upsetting.

_Also_ , Christmas was in twelve—Hank looked at his watch—eleven and a half hours.  There wasn’t time for CyberLife.

At Hank’s pained facial expression, the young employee offered, “We do carry blue blood.”

Hank sighed.  “Thanks, kid.  I’ll keep trying.”

The boy nodded encouragingly and went about his business.

And Hank was no closer to figuring out a gift for Connor.

So, he started going up and down the aisles again, this time with gifts in mind. 

Did Connor need a power drill?  Did he want some lumber?  Wood glue, stain, maybe a paint roller?  Would Connor the android detective appreciate a nail gun?  Bolts?  Rope?

Why had Hank chosen a hardware store?  Because Connor was an android?  Was that racist?  Fuck, that was probably racist.

As Hank was finishing that thought, he saw an android walk by with a shopping basket in one hand and a wreath in the other.  Androids didn’t wear their uniforms anymore but sometimes they kept their LEDs, like Connor had, and the look of holiday stress on her face was so human and so relatable that Hank probably wouldn’t have realized she was an android if he hadn’t noticed the blue light on her temple. 

He jogged up to her, toting his bulging cart and the least-threatening smile he could generate.  “Miss?”

She looked up, offering him a small smile.  “Yes?”

“Hi,” he said, slowing down when he caught up with her.  “I was wondering if I could get your opinion on something?”

She shifted her wreath.  “Um, sure?”

“Okay, so, I have this friend.  This is his first Christmas, and I kinda wanna make it stand out to him, you know?  Like I wanna make sure he has a good time.”

“Okay?”

“But I’m not sure what to get him.  Like, for a present.”

The android blinked at Hank slowly.  “You want me to recommend something for you to get your friend?”

“Ah, well.”  Fuck, he couldn’t just say he was asking her because she was an android.  “You know, never mind.  You’re right.  Thank you for your time.”

“Sure.  Merry Christmas!”

He mumbled it back and hightailed it out of there before he could deeply insult the girl and even more deeply embarrass himself.

The problem was, he still had no idea what to get Connor for Christmas, and now he was down to eleven hours and only a few more hours of stores being open.

All the fallback gifts were food.  Chocolate.  Cologne or bubble bath.  Slippers.  A tie.

A tie.

Traditional.  Relevant.  Human.  Why hadn’t he thought of it before?

Hank’s eyes went wide and he… well, he didn’t sprint, but he did haul ass to the checkout line.  He quickly purchased his multiple bags full of decorations, stuffing them in his vehicle.

There was a cheap clothing store just one shop over, and with any luck—

It was open.

* * *

 

In Hank’s entire life, he had owned exactly one tie.  It was navy blue and went precisely with his one and only dress shirt, which was white.  His mother had purchased it for him over thirty years ago and he had never seen a reason to buy another one.

Hank had literally never purchased a tie, and now he was standing in the men’s department on Christmas Eve holding about twelve of them and trying to understand what made one superior to the other.

Should he get him a funny Christmas tie?  Should he get him a tie for work?  A casual tie?  Was there such a thing as a casual tie?  Did Connor dress that way because he wanted to, or because it was all he knew?  Maybe Connor actually hated ties and just couldn’t bring himself to stop wearing them?

And why was one tie $14.99 and another nearly $100?  How could the $100 rectangle of fabric be that much better than the other one, to justify that kind of difference?

Hank put all the ties down.

He went to a rack of ties that cost $29.99.

He closed his eyes and shot a hand out, picking whatever tie his hand came to.

He opened his eyes.

It was basically Connor’s current tie. 

He put it back, tried again.

That one was not Connor’s current tie.

An employee was giving Hank a dirty look: they were closing in a few minutes.  Hank made his purchase and hurried out.

* * *

 

When he got home, bags of Christmas supplies tucked safely in the trunk of his car, Connor was no longer listening to Christmas music.  Currently, he was mutilating an antique clock he’d found in Hank’s attic and looking very happy about it. 

“I think I can get it working,” Connor announced, sounding quite triumphant.  “Its mechanism is not that complex.  Once it’s working, I believe it would look good on that end table.”  He pointed with a tiny screwdriver.

“Fantastic,” Hank groused, wondering when Connor had made himself so very at home that he felt comfortable rearranging Hank’s furniture and wondering further why it didn’t bother him and he’d probably even help him do it.

He dropped himself on his couch.  Now to stay awake until Connor shut down for the night.  Hopefully this wouldn’t be the one night Connor decided it was more interesting to work on a project all night.

Luckily, it wasn’t.  At approximately his usual time, Connor put his tools down and stood.  “I’m going to bed,” he informed him.

Hank grunted a confirmation and turned the page of his old-fashioned paper book.  “Night.”

“Goodnight, Lieutenant.”

He remained in his spot for several minutes.  Connor didn’t have a long bedtime routine and entering sleep mode was a simple act of will for him.  (Hank hadn’t known androids needed to power down—sleep—until the first night after the big android march, when Connor had moved in with him.  Hank had found him standing in a corner, eyes open and dead asleep, and the image had unsettled him so much that he’d demanded that Connor sleep always laying down and always, _always_ with his eyes closed, and since making him sleep on the couch seemed a little degrading and re-opening the shrine of Cole’s room wasn’t an option, Connor had simply been sleeping in his bed with him.  As a result, he knew a lot more about android sleep now than he ever had before, or had ever planned to.)  He was always out within a few minutes of saying goodnight but Hank waited an extra minute just to be sure.

When he was completely certain that his android roommate would be powered down for the night and after creeping to his bedroom just to be positive, Hank hurried out to the car, gathering up the bags.  He brought them in as quietly as possible and spread everything he’d purchased out on the floor.

He glanced at the clock.  Connor usually got up at 7:00 in the morning sharp, regardless of it being a weekend or weekday.  It was nearly eleven now, and it would be ideal if Hank could get a few hours of sleep, himself.  So he had about two hours to get this place as Christmassy as it was going to get.

He called upon the determination and drive that had made him valedictorian at the police academy and set to work.

* * *

 

Three hours later, Hank, exhausted, dragged himself to his bed, dropping down into it fully dressed, since he’d just be getting up in five hours anyway.  He set his alarm for 6:55-- he didn’t set all that up for Connor to _not_ see his reaction, which better be fucking delighted. 

As Hank dropped back into bed, Connor’s eyes blinked hazily open, his LED yellow with sleep.  “Lieutenant?” he mumbled.

“Nothin’, just a pee break.”

Connor could almost always detect when Hank was lying, but half-asleep Connor could only do it half as often and this time Hank got away with it.  Connor nodded, eyes closing.  He shifted, ending up on Hank so that his shoulder was pinned by Connor’s.

Hank rolled his eyes, huffed a few times, but ultimately he didn’t pull away.  He closed his eyes and was asleep within a few minutes.

* * *

 

Hank didn’t think that Connor had ever, in his entire short life, taken longer to get ready in the morning that he was taking this day.

To be fair, Hank usually didn’t hover around him, watching every move he made.  Normally, Hank just got dressed, brushed his teeth if he was feeling particularly motivated that day, went downstairs, and drank coffee until Connor came down, fresh as a daisy, and dragged him to work.  So he didn’t know if this was Connor’s usual morning routine or what, but either way it seemed like it was taking forever.

He didn’t want to be too suspicious so he hurriedly brushed his teeth and quickly pulled some clothes on, then proceeded to wait as Connor adjusted his hair, put on his tie, brushed invisible lint off his clothes… bringing himself up to some standard that Hank was sure he couldn’t meet on his best day but Connor managed daily.  Finally, it looked like the guy was ready, and Hank found himself actually… nervous… as Connor exited the bedroom and walked down the hall.

He stopped dead when he came to the living room.  Hank nearly crashed into his back.

Connor was silent for several long seconds.  Hank’s heart was pounding.  Was it bad?  Was it ugly or something?

Connor turned around slowly, eyes finding Hank’s.

“Does this always happen?” he asked, sounding mystified.

“…What?”

“Does this always happen?” Connor repeated slightly louder.

“Uh, not sure what you mean…”

“Christmas,” Connor finally elaborated.  “It seems to have appeared in our living room overnight.”

“Ah,” Hank said, fidgeting.  “Um, no.  Not usually.”

Connor looked back at the room again, and Hank saw it properly for the first time. 

It was… well.  There was the artificial tree, about knee-height, with a single box of ornaments hanging from it.  But Hank had forgotten hooks, so they were sort of just resting on the branches.  Under the tree was Connor’s gift, haphazardly wrapped with no ribbon or tag because Hank had forgotten those, too.  There were limp red bows tied onto random objects.  There were lights on the tree and draped across a few shelves, and he’d accidentally bought mismatching ones so the multicolor ran into the white which ran into the blinking blue… And then the yard flamingo that Hank had strategically bent so it would stand up indoors without being driven into the floor, which stood next to the tree and was almost the same height as it.  The candy canes he’d simply put on the floor in random places.  At 2 in the morning it had reminded him of an Easter egg hunt and had seemed creative.  In the cold, hard light of morning it just looked like he’d dropped the box and hadn’t bothered to pick them up.

“Then you decorated,” Connor deduced.  “Last night, while I was powered down.”

“Uh, yeah.”

Connor turned around and that same smile that had driven Hank to the hardware store was on his face again, and the last twelve hours of being in a near-panic were completely worth it.  Hank found himself smiling back; hadn’t even told his face to do it but it was.  It was impossible for Hank not to smile back at Connor when Connor was looking at him like that.  Like he was surprising and wonderful and not a piece of trash, not at all.

“Merry Christmas, Connor,” he said as cheerfully as he could, and again it wasn’t difficult.

“Merry Christmas, Lieutenant,” Connor replied, as formal but friendly as ever.  “I must admit I’m surprised you decorated.  I never took you for the type.”

“Yeah.”  Hank shrugged.  “I don’t usually.”  There hadn’t been a reason to, not for ages.  Not until recently.  “I guess you thought I was J-“

“Mourning the death of your son, Cole,” Connor confirmed, although that hadn’t at all been what Hank was about to say.  “I’m given to understand that humans sometimes react to tragic loses by rejecting traditional family holidays.”

Hank blinked a few times.  This bot really knew him, huh?  “Right,” he said cautiously.

Connor’s attention went back to the decorations, his hand going to touch the fake velvet of one of the curls of the nearest bow, which was tied around the handle of a drawer.

“So what made this year different?” Connor asked the bow.

“Well.”  Hank coughed to buy himself some time.  “Yesterday, when I got home, you were in there dancing and I just thought, you seemed really excited for Christmas.  And it’s your first one.”  He shrugged slightly.  “So I figured I’d run out real quick, buy a few decorations, getcha a present…”

“Your decorative style is non-traditional,” Connor said, adjusting the bow.  “Non-conformist, like you.”  He smiled at the bow, then at Hank.  “I like it.”

“Great,” Hank said, relieved that at least Connor didn’t think he’d half-assed it.  Thought it was hard to tell from looking, he really had tried his hardest.  “So, d’ya want your present, now?  That’s usually the first thing people do on Christmas.”

Connor chuckled.  He did that sometimes, now, but Hank was still not completely used to it.  It didn’t happen terribly often.  (Connor definitely had a sense of humor, but mostly it manifested in extreme snark and pretending he didn’t notice when the recipient retaliated.  _Thank you in advance for your cooperation_ , Hank’s ass.)  “I have to be honest, Lieutenant, I was not expecting a gift.  Luckily, I do have one for you as well.  Please wait here a moment.”

Connor disappeared down the hallway and Hank was so, so glad he’d decided to get Connor something after all.  He crossed to the couch and sat on it, waiting.

Connor returned with the most neatly-wrapped gift Hank had ever seen, straight out of a cartoon with its bow and its ribbon and its CyberLife font “To: Hank” on a tag that hung from a fucking string.  It was rectangular and about two inches thick.

“You go first,” Hank said, because tearing this open any sooner than absolutely necessary seemed like a crime while Hank’s wrap job should be put out of its misery as soon as possible.  “It’s under the tree in the, uh, newspaper.”

“Environmentally conscious,” Connor praised.  “Good thinking, Lieutenant.” 

“You know me,” Hank mumbled.  “Environmentally conscious.”

Connor located the gift and brought it to the sofa to sit by Hank, settling on the cushion next to him and placing it on his lap.  Hank wondered if CyberLife programmed androids on gift-receiving technique or if Connor had picked it up from a movie or something.  He opened it very efficiently.

His face lit up when he saw what was inside, and Hank’s world turned a little sideways for a minute or two.

“A tie!” Connor declared, unraveling it and holding it up to examine it in the light.  “It’s forest green,” he added.  “Seasonally appropriate.”  He began taking off the tie he wore every day.  “Thank you, Lieutenant.  I’m glad to have a tie that wasn’t issued by CyberLife.  It’s all a bit fresh in my memory.”

Hank had nailed it.  He couldn’t fucking believe that he’d nailed it.  Completely on accident, with only good intentions as his guide, he had managed to genuinely please a newly-sentient android with a Christmas present.

“Welcome.”  Hank smiled as Connor put on his new tie.

“How do I look?” he asked seriously.

_Happy_ , Hank thought.  _And exactly the same except your tie is green_.  But out loud he said, “Go take a look.”

Connor hopped to his feet, jogging to the bathroom.  Hank heard an exclamation and then more footsteps as Connor returned.  He picked up the CyberLife tie, walked it to the kitchen, and tossed it in the trash.  He came back to the sofa, green tie around his neck.

“Thank you, Hank,” he said again, voice sincere.  “For the tie and for the decorations.  I hope it didn’t cause you emotional pain.”

“It didn’t,” Hank assured him, and other than the intense stress it actually hadn’t.  He hadn’t been thinking about Cole (the thought of _that_ made him feel an intense stab of guilt but he pushed it away, that was something he could obsess over later).  He’d been thinking about making Connor happy. 

“Good.”  Connor nodded, then gestured towards Hank’s present.  “Open yours.”

Hank ripped it open, and again he realized how well this android knew him.

It was a book: a real one, made out of paper and yellow with age because the stupid companies didn’t publish paper books anymore.  The moment the wrapping paper came off he could smell it and it was wonderful.

“Open it,” Connor instructed, and Hank obeyed, turning it to the first page.

He realized that it wasn’t a novel, it was a journal, and Connor (it had to be Connor because the lines were perfect and the angles were all exactly ninety degrees) had cut out a newspaper article (old school, again, real newsprint) and glued it to the center of the page.  Underneath it was Connor’s perfect handwriting that simply stated the date.

Hank turned the page, confused.  The next cutout also had a date underneath it, and Hank decided to read it more carefully.

He didn’t have to read the whole thing to remember what it was.  He turned the page, then again, then again, and he found that every page contained the same thing—or, rather, different articles all about the same topic, arranged chronologically.

“Didn’t know you were into scrapbooking,” Hank said, closing the book.

“I don’t think I am,” Connor answered.  “But I felt that this project was important.  I’ve observed that your self-confidence is lacking at times, Lieutenant, and it really shouldn’t be.  In addition to being a good friend and a loyal companion, you are an excellent police officer.”  He tapped on the book.  “I was hoping this might remind you.”

Hank was… well, embarrassed, but he couldn’t help but admit he was also touched.  It was a little of both, to receive an entire scrapbook full of newspaper articles detailing the cases you’d solved.

Including the ones where he wasn’t mentioned by name, but remembered taking part in…

“How’d you get all of these?” Hank asked.  “And how’d you know I was on all of these cases?”

“An estate sale,” Connor answered.  “One of our neighbors passed away recently.  Out of curiosity I visited the ensuing estate sale.  She had a massive collection of newspapers, from long before your birth right up until they went out of print.  All the big Detroit publishers.  She was incredibly thorough, in fact.  It was the first time I’d seen an antique newspaper so I opened one, only to find your name and the details of a case you solved in 2037.  That’s how I got the idea.  So I guessed at the year of your graduation from the police academy and offered the estate manager fifteen dollars for all the newspapers after that date.  He was thrilled to have someone remove what he clearly viewed as trash.  And to even pay him for it.”

“But how did you know I was involved in all of these?” Hank asked.  “My name’s not even listed in most of ‘em.”

Connor looked slightly embarrassed.  “I may have stolen your file from our place of employment,” he said.  He cleared his throat.  “But only briefly.  I returned it as soon as I had committed it to memory.  As a side note, I had correctly guessed the year of your graduation.”  He nodded.  “After that, I only had to cross-reference the newspapers and the list of your solved cases.”

“Fuck, Connor, how long did that take you?”

“Only a few days,” Connor said.  He winked.  “I read a lot faster than you.  Cutting them out took a bit longer.”  He leaned forward slightly.  “Are you aware of how many cases you’ve solved, Lieutenant?  Your track record is unbelievable.”

Hank smiled a little.  “I guess I’ve solved a few in my time.”

“More than a few,” Connor said firmly.  “Lieutenant Anderson, this book only contains the cases that were put in print before newspapers went entirely digital.  I did another calculation, would you like to hear it?”

“Does it have anything to do with cholesterol?”

“No.”

“Then sure.”

“The amount of deaths you have _indirectly_ prevented is incalculable, but I have estimated the number of lives you are responsible for saving directly,” Connor said.  “Do you know how many that is?”

Hank shook his head mutely.

“Given killers you’ve arrested who would likely have killed again, kidnappings you’ve intervened in that likely would have been fatal, and accidents you’ve stopped, I feel comfortable estimating that you are directly responsible for preventing the deaths of over 76 humans.” 

Hank had absolutely no idea what to say.

What did a person say to that?  What was he supposed to say to an android that had known him for two months and already knew him better than any friend he’d ever made in over fifty years of life before that?  A friend who he’d given a tie and who had given _him_ a handmade scrapbook of every time he hadn’t fucked up because that friend was apparently still worried that Hank might decide to end it all one day. 

Connor smiled and added softly, “And one android.”

Hank blinked a few times to make sure nothing spilled over, just in case anything was thinking about doing that.  “Uh, thank you,” he settled on.  “Means a lot.”

“You’re welcome, Lieutenant,” Connor announced.  “Merry Christmas.”

Hank rubbed his face briefly, head still spinning.

“Oh, and one more thing,” Connor said, and Hank, not for the first time, regretted recommending that he watch Columbo.  “I ordered a Christmas dinner.  You don’t eat a sufficient amount of healthy food.  It will arrive at precisely 5:00 and if the advertisement is to be believed, it will arrive at the perfect temperature.”

Hank chuckled, reaching over to put his hand on Connor’s shoulder.  “You know this means I’m gonna have to hug you,” he said.

“I was given to understand that demonstrations of affection are traditional at Christmas,” Connor confirmed, and Hank pulled him in close, giving him a good squeeze.

Connor haphazardly hugged back, still not having mastered ‘hugging,’ but the sentiment was there and Hank definitely didn’t miss it.

“You’re a good friend, Connor,” he said, releasing him and patting him on the shoulder a few times for emphasis.  “Glad I’ve got you.”

“Likewise,” Connor agreed, and he just looked so pleased with his green tie and his scrapbook gift and his tongue-in-cheek gift of healthy Christmas dinner and the (horrible) Christmas decorations that Hank didn’t know what to do with himself and he found himself saying:

“Next year, do you wanna do Christmas properly?”

He regretted it the moment it came out of his mouth.  Committing himself to a month of shopping and Christmas carols and decorating and all the other bullshit that-

“Yes,” Connor said.  “Definitely.”

And the regret went up in smoke almost as quickly as it had come.

He smiled.  “Looking forward to it.”


End file.
